Queen of the Desert
by levele3
Summary: John has been learning how to be a drag queen from the best woman in the business, the only problem is she's a woman. Irene tasks John with going to a performance that will change his life. Prequel to Funny Girls.
1. John's POV

John is lying on his back breathing hard, gasping for air, and trying to remember how he ended up in this position. His position, on his back, feet pushing into his unyielding mattress, left hand furiously fisting his leaking cock, about to cum for the third, no fourth time in the last ten hours, is a familiar one. The song, _that song,_ is about to come to an end for the fourth time as well. Bliss at last with a final upwards stroke ending in a rather rough twist John will later regret and he can finally think straight, well not _completely_ straight.

His problems started last night at the show, no the night before.

John had just finished up for the night. It was two am and Funny Girls was closing up. Greg had congratulated everyone on a job well done, before heading up his offices. It was only him and The Woman left in the dressing room. John had pulled enough yellow feathers out of his hair to reconstruct a boa, and was ready to head out the door when Irene stopped him.

"Hey, John, I just wanted to say you're doing really well and rehearsals for your debut are coming along great, you're a fast study. When you first approached me about performing, I must admit I had my doubts but you've proven me wrong." Irene was flashing her predatory smile at him but her words carried a note of sincerity.

"Thanks Irene, that means a lot to me." John replied sheepishly, trying not to blush under the praise.

He held the stage door open for her as the exited the building together. Immediately Irene propped herself up against the dirty brick just outside the door and lit up a fag. This was where they first meet, that night four months ago. It felt like ages. The December air had a certain bite to it that September didn't.

"Listen; there is a show tomorrow night I want you to see. At Pussy in Boots, consider it homework for your training." Irene said huffing out a puff of smoke.

"Tomorrow night? Irene, I can't. Some of my Army mates are home on leave and we've got plans to meet up." John protested. He had booked that night off as soon as he'd found out.

"You're going out drinking anyways right? Just convince them to go to the show, it's the only chance you might get to see it, and I need you to see it." Irene sounded serious, if John showed up the next day having not seen it Irene might call off the whole project.

"I don't think-" John started his flimsy protest, "drag clubs just really aren't-"

"It's not a drag club John, they have all types of performances, and I just need you to see this one. Ditch your mates for a few minutes if you have to, you won't be disappointed." With that Irene stubbed out her fag on the brick and let the butt fall to the ground.

"The doorman's name is George, tell him you want to see the Angel show, and tell him The Woman sent you. He'll let you and your mates in for free. Go early if you want good seats."

John stood just outside the doors of Pussy in Boots his legs shaking even as he waved his mates over. After a nice diner, and stopping at two of John's new favourite pubs his mates were indeed warm to the idea of going to a show. John said he knew the prefect place.

John forgot how much fun these guys were, after returning home he thought he'd never miss the sticky humidity of the desert, the loneliness but now. John wishes he was still there with them, wishes when they go back he could go with them. He'd do shows for them when it got boring, he could be the queen of the desert. He would be an easy target for enemy fire in sparkly dresses and high heels. John's mirage of the desert evaporated as he walked back in the door of the club Billy Murray and the other's close behind.

Pussy in Boots was the exact opposite of Funny Girls. Funny Girls was warm and inviting, a place to be comfortable, with deep rich calming tones of red and cream that reminded John of his favourite jumper, with soft yellow, mood lighting as Greg called it. This club had an edgy vibe to it; the lights were either black lights or electric blue. There were well used black sofas interspersed with booths and high tables.

John managed to grab a high table with six chairs around it for him and his mates that offered a good view of the stage. The place was dressed for Christmas and the garland that hung from the ceiling was no doubt strategically laced with mistletoe. His mates all approved of the choice when three beautiful blondes walked out on stage in Santa's Elves' costumes and did a song and dance number to _Jingle Bell Rock_. John thought they were good, and applauded with the rest, but they were no _The Woman_ and Irene would never have them perform on her stage.

Irene knew talent when she saw it, and she saw it in John, which surprised him. Two weeks ago she had come to him saying she would begin teaching him a routine if he was up for it. Since he started John had mostly been doing back up and getting to be the straight man for the comedic genius that was Nurse. Greg was looking for a new routine to headline his shows and John had showed the most potential. Irene had brought to him an idea she had done before and they both agreed it was a good starting place.

The blonde trio had moved on to Slade's _Marry Christmas Everybody_, which made John think of Doctor Who. All the recent Christmas epodes had somehow managed to squeeze that tune in. everyone was once again whistling and cheering for the girls when a smartly dressed man came out on stage and shooed them off. Hushing the crowed he finally announced what, or rather who, was coming up next.

"Hold on to your seats ladies and gentlemen, up next, what you've all been waiting for the lovely, the charming, Angel."

There was some long drawn out "_oohs_" and "_ahhs_" from the crowd as John looked around the room, but when his eyes came back to the stage his brain disconnected from the rest of his body.

A shockingly pale leg had slipped out from behind the curtain and the red strappy heel attached to that leg was, _whoa_. John could feel his heartbeat increase as the tune started. The leg was attached to the most graceful creature John had ever seen dressed in a red velvet teddy that was trimmed with white fur, and a voice that sung in breathy moans that made John think of all manner of naughty thoughts.

John doubted the sinuous creature on stage had indeed "been an Angel all year." His head was haloed with silky raven curls John would give anything to tug at and when his lips were together formed a perfect cupid's bow. John wanted to taste those lips. His eyes had not left the stage since Angel had appeared on it and he tracked every twirl and dip with a hunger that could not be sated. Angel finished with a wink and a smile and John was grateful he hadn't cum in his pants. He had mostly ignored the straining against his jeans until Angel had bowed his head and upon bring it up locked eyes with John where he then proceeded to wink.

It was 10 am the following morning and John had just finished coming into his own hand for the fourth time since getting home last night, shamelessly hitting the repeat button on youtube after bringing up Eartha Kitt's version of _Santa Baby_. He got up out of his bead to go clean up in the shower, sticky and spent. The song would never hold the same context for John ever again. He would always think of Angel, of long pale legs and silky black hair, of lips he'd never get to kiss. Angel was beautiful and intangible.

John was a broken ex-soldier who was trying to make it as a drag queen. He was short and had rough dirty blonde hair, although that was fixed with his wig. No one would ever look at John the way he had looked at Angel. Why had Irene wanted him to see this? Seeing Angel had not boosted his confidence as he thought it might, it only made him horny in a way he hadn't been since returning from the war. It made him want to work hard though. He'd tell Irene tonight he defiantly wanted to keep practicing.

John had brought his laptop into the loo with him and rested it on the counter, turning up the volume he hits play just before ducking into the shower spray.

"Santa Baby, slip a sable under the tree, for me…"


	2. Sherlock's POV

Sherlock Holmes, better known by his stage name _Angel_ is about to step out on stage and perform for the fifth time this holiday season but the gig has been booked since July. In fact he is completely booked this month, he always is, for December. That is when he brings out his special performance.

Two days ago Sherlock received a phone call from his old mentor. It was an unexpected but pleasant surprise.

"When's your next show?" she asked after they had caught up a bit.

"Saturday night at Pussy in Boots, why do you want to come? I can get you in." Sherlock offered eagerly. He was dying to see Irene again, they had let too much time pass.

"I'd love to _darling_ but I'm working that night, however there is someone I would like to see one of your shows." She explained.

"A new student?" he asked with no attempt at hiding the note of jealously that crept into his voice.

"Maybe." She said coly and he nearly boiled over with rage.

"Fine, I'll tell George I'm expecting someone, give him your name. So this new protégée, does she have potential?" Sherlock asked, genuinely interested.

"Of course _darling_, I wouldn't have agreed to teach him if he didn't."

After they exchanged a few more pleasantries they said their good-byes and hung up.

The elves currently on stage are nowhere near his caliber of opening act, but it was the best this shoddy club had to offer. The manager, some clout named Dimmock, was no Gregory Lestrade and his girls would never pass one of Irene's rigorous performance tests. They had some looks but no rhythm and their voices were pitchy at best. The dim crowd clapped politely every time they finished a set but there were no cat calls or wolf whistles.

Sherlock smiled cruelly, _'drunken sods'_ he thought bitterly. His grand performance would be utterly wasted on the fools. At long last the girls had finished murdering Slade and Dimmock called him to come out on stage.

Sherlock teases the crowd by reveling himself slowly and picks a target just like Irene taught him to.

"It's easier to dance for just one person, than many." Her voice floats back to him, "pick a person and do the show just for them."

It was something that stuck with him, after all these years. It made sense, felt right. Sherlock looked up and spotted a table full of Military men who were clearly home on leave for the holidays, how nice. Sherlock picked the one who looked the most uncomfortable. He was seated furthest from the stage and looked as though he would rather be anywhere else. Perfect.

Sherlock moved his body the way he had taught it to and was pleased when he didn't slip up. With a flourish he finished, winking at his target. The man was practically squirming to get out of his chair. Sherlock always managed to pick the straightest man in the room. Oh well. The crowd exploded into applause and Sherlock bowed low and graceful. Suddenly he couldn't wait to get off the stage, the lights were too warm, the room beyond too dark. He couldn't breathe. He needed a fag.

Relaxing against the damp brick, breathing in the smoke, Sherlock finally felt himself again. He hadn't bothered to change just threw his long Belstaff coat on over his show piece. His jacket had somehow become his security blanket. The cool air brushing against him bringing its own peace and calm. He's just thinking how he should pay Irene a visit when his thoughts are interrupted by a rowdy group approaching his secluded alley.

"What did you think of the show, eh Johnny? Those girls were something else" said a gruff faceless voice.

"Yeah but they were nothing compared to the bloke" inserted another voice "he could move."

_'Well at least someone knew a good performance when they saw one_,' Sherlock thought.

"Yeah, yeah he was good wasn't he" a slightly shyer voice spoke up. Sherlock could practically hear the man's cheeks redden from here. It was almost enough to make Sherlock blush by proxy, almost.

"What's that, three continents Watson fancy's a bloke?" came the first voice.

"No, I mean, I wouldn't say fancy. That's a bit like saying you fancy a film star, it doesn't mean anything." The Watson fellow was trying to save face a failing, his heart wasn't in the argument.

Their voices drifted off as they passed Sherlock's hiding spot and when he thought it was safe poked his head out to watch the group walk off. It was the Military group, Sherlock was sure of it. Idly he wondered which of the men had taken a shine to him, not that it mattered. If Sherlock had to guess though, he would have put his money on the shorter figure that was now slowly trailing behind the rest of the group. The man appeared to be limping.

Sherlock never did call Irene but that was okay because two months later she called him.

"Irene it's the tenth already, what if I had had a gig?" Sherlock was in near panic.

"But you don't. Can you just come do it for me, please?" she begged. It was four days to Valentine's Day the date of John's big debut and Lou-Lou had gone and twisted his ankle. Irene could have killed him. There was no one to take his place. Only one other person in all of England knew that routine and Irene was right in thinking he wouldn't do it.

"Please?" she crooned again.

"What if, what if I don't remember the moves? We have no time to practice it together." Irene knew Sherlock was being reasonable but he was also being a complete dunce.

"It's okay if you mess up, we're back up not centre."

"And that is supposed to make me feel better?"

"Is that a yes?" Irene was beyond desperate. She had promised John this, couldn't take it away from him now. They were so close.

"Yes fine, I'll be there." Sherlock conceded, he knew Irene would never stop bugging him, and never forgive him if he had said no.

Stalking over to his calendar he marked it in with red pen, Funny Girls.

It would be the first time in years he had visited the place where he got his start.

Well time to start practicing.

"Where have all the good men gone, and where are all the gods…"


End file.
